


through the ruse

by seasunwrites



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Eventual Smut, Historical Inaccuracy, Inspired by Bridgerton (TV), Multi, Mutual Pining, Non-Explicit Sex, hehe, lol helppp i hate tagging, probably lmao, the characters stated in the relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29950797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasunwrites/pseuds/seasunwrites
Summary: “So...I didn’t catch your name,” she said.His lips quirked up into a half smile, one dimple showing. “Pardon?”“Your name?”He seemed to be teasing her; she didn’t appreciate being teased.“You really don’t know my name?”or,Because I watched Bridgerton, I felt obligated to write a Bridgerton AU.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase & Malcolm Pace, Annabeth Chase & Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Charles Beckendorf & Percy Jackson, Percy Jackson & Grover Underwood, Percy Jackson & Malcolm Pace, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Rachel Elizabeth Dare/Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano, Silena Beauregard/Charles Beckendorf/Clarisse La Rue
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	through the ruse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [connabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/connabeth/gifts).



> this is all thanks to ash, (@skaterannabeth on tumblr), who is now my gf, for giving me permission to watch bridgerton, and then i kinda made this. (and researched way too much for something that is probably historically innacurate anyway hhh) but eh, bridgerton in itself was already a regency fantasy, so it's whatever. like always, this was going to be longer, but i had to cut half of it out. the next update shall be here soon, though! enjoy<3

The start of the season was in full bloom. Perhaps that was the reason for her dream of the magnolia tree. 

It had come to pass more than once these past couple of days. After all, this time of year brought back memories of her mother. 

Athena Chase had always loved magnolia trees. 

In her dream, Annabeth would watch as the former viscountess stood there, in the shadow of the blushing petals that fluttered down to her dark hair. She’d make up her mind, after some time, and walk up to her. But her mother wouldn’t turn around. 

For some reason, in all of the versions of the dream, Annabeth wouldn’t dare touch her. Just call her name until she’d respond.

The pregnant pause would finally be cut through by her mother’s voice. Her words would leave softly from her lips like the falling petals.

“Be like this tree,” she’d say, resting a hand on the weathered trunk. “She is a grounded creature. One with stability.” That’s when she’d whirl to Annabeth, only for her face to be blurred. Forgotten. “The magnolia may be grounded, but its flowers can reach every corner of the world. It is grounded, but it is also free.”

And that’s when she’d wake up.

Annabeth recalled the dream as her lady-in-waiting dressed her in a gown the same shade as the morning clouds. It was yet to leave her mind as staff wished her luck and as she ran down the stairs after her siblings called for her to hurry, smooth silk trailing behind her like water. 

And she recalled it now, nestled next to Helen and looking out the window. She ignored her family’s chatter and Malcolm’s pointed stare, mostly focused on the picture of passerby horses and blooming magnolia trees.

She found herself glaring, searching every nook and cranny of her brain for that memory of her mother’s face. But it never came. Only flower petals and vague promises and empty portraits. 

Before she knew it, the carriage had stopped. Sunlight kissed their feet when the doors were forced open.

“Well,” her father sighed, straightening his waistcoat. “It is time.” 

He nodded to his wife, and Helen smiled, already stepping outside. 

“Annabeth,” she called. “Come, dear. Her Majesty awaits.”

But when she gazed at the coachman’s waiting hand, she froze in her place.

Come to think of it, she felt a sudden desire to take off her gloves. They stuck to her arms, wax seals on a new paper. She attempted to swallow the sickness down, but her throat was dry, hollow. 

It would’ve been easy to blame it on the way her stepmother stood outside, ever so poised — or how carriages flocked the grand entryway, emptying ladies dressed in light pastels. But really, she had no clue as to why that nauseating desire of hers had come back — today of all days — with full force. 

Helplessly, she turned to Malcolm, who still had his eyes on her. She realized that even the young twins had stopped talking. 

“Go on,” Malcolm said, attempting to sound encouraging. “She’s going to love you. Don’t worry.”

_ Don’t worry. _

She might’ve laughed, had she been with Rachel. Nearly  _ everything _ depended on this moment.

Her mother’s voice from that pestering dream kept haunting her, like a broken clock.

_ Be like the magnolia tree. _

She glanced swiftly at her father. His eyebrows were raised, but otherwise, he sat patiently. He knew what this meant to her, how important this was in her journey to womanhood. 

Freedom.

So Annabeth finally rose from her seat and let herself be helped off the carriage, legs weak. People were watching, she knew. With The Queen’s House looming above, she gave the rest of her family a brave smile. They gathered behind her as though awaiting her next command. Which, they probably were.

“You’re right, Malcolm.” She took a deep breath. “She  _ is  _ going to love me. And I’ll make sure of it.”

Her brother’s mouth twitched at her newly-found confidence. He offered her his arm, and she took it.

“Come along then, Sister.”

Helen walked beside the pair, her father and the twins falling behind. But Annabeth was only thinking forward.

_ Her Majesty awaits.  _

  
  


~

  
  


It wasn’t hard to find Rachel amongst the other girls. 

The antechamber was filled to the brim with young ladies and their mothers busy with final preparations, feathers adorning their hair .  But she could recognize her best friend anywhere, especially when she stood next to her mother, the marchioness. Rachel’s dress also didn’t help matters. The marigold shade was a stark contrast in the sea of amaranth and lavender. Even Annabeth seemed to blend it, what with her gown being a light beige. 

This was something that she'd grown used to, however. Rachel Elizabeth Dare had always been one to stand out, even when she didn’t mean to. 

As soon as she laid eyes on her, Rachel smiled widely, waving for her to come. Whatever qualities the gossip magazines came up with about her, following social norms wasn’t one of them.

Annabeth spared a glance at Helen, who was currently the only one of her family staying with her, waiting for her turn.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she whispered, giving her a nod but otherwise already moving past the bodies of girls clad in feathers and ornaments. 

She vaguely heard her stepmother cry out in protest, but at the moment she only saw the familiar face of someone with whom she could loosen her fears.

After all, Rachel wasn’t the only one who didn’t care about social norms. Perhaps that was the reason as to why Annabeth had grown so close to her.

Kindred spirits is what Malcolm would say.

While she made her way toward Rachel, she noticed her friend saying something to the marchioness. The latter responded with words she couldn’t hear, but soon, Rachel was left alone, grinning madly. 

“I thought you’d never come,” Rachel said, once she was within earshot. 

Annabeth snorted. “You know that’s the last thing I want.”

“Yes, yes,” her friend said flippantly. “Your future depends on the queen’s opinion and all that.” 

She chose to ignore her, instead, asking, “Where’d your mother go?”

“Oh, I told her that she embarrasses you. The usual.”

Annabeth hit her on the shoulder. “Rachel!”

“What?” She raised her gloved arms in surrender. “I didn’t exactly say  _ that.  _ Just that I would be talking with you. Woman to woman.”

“Psh. And what are we going to talk about, exactly?”

“You know, about how I’ll purposefully look bad in front of the queen so that she likes you better. I’d love that taste of scandal, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s a bit too much. Even for you, Rach.”

“Come on,  _ ‘Beth,”  _ she said, looking at her pointedly. The playful veil she’d had on was now gone, replaced by uneasiness. “You know that being the daughter of Marquess _ Dare  _ has me at an advantage, no matter how nicely the papers take to the Chases. Our family name has been present in England for centuries now. And if I make a fool of myself, I do not doubt that Queen Charlotte shall approve of you.”

To cover up her ever-present concern, she patted Annabeth’s forehead with her fan.

“Boop.”

Annabeth furrowed her eyebrows.

She knew that Rachel was in no hurry to marry; unlike her, the Marquess and Marchioness didn’t care too much about what she did with her time. The redhead had even been allowed to have her art studio, where models came and went, and she stayed with growing heaps of paintings and sketches and met new, interesting people.

“Rachel. Whatever it is that you plan to do is not a good idea.”

“Who said it was a good idea?” she asked breezily. “It’s what you need.”

Annabeth scanned her face. Something more was off about her. Rachel’s complexion matched her fiery curls that were now held in an updo. She looked like she was sizzling under the sun. Her back also seemed straighter than usual.

“You look ill. What's wrong? What’s  _ actually  _ wrong?”

Rachel only shook her head and opened the fan she’d been holding, waving it across her face. “A bit hot in here, don’t you think?” 

“ _ Rachel.” _

“Alright,  _ fine,” _ she sighed. “It’s just that Mother...decided it would be good for me to tighten the stay. Don’t look at me like that! I feel a bit hot, is all.”

“But...you’ve told me that she never insists on much. Besides, it makes little difference. A stay should be  _ comfortable—” _

“Well, I’ve no clue as to  _ why _ — she’s suddenly ever more demanding these days, truth be told. But better for you, I s’pose. Because now I can hardly breathe.” Her lips stretched out across her face. 

“You have a strange sense of humor, Dare.”

“Where’d you think I got it from?”

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut it. You’re worse than me.”

“Because”—she wiggled her eyebrows—“you created a monster.”

Now that she’d put her mind to it, she could tell that Rachel’s tone sounded breathier than usual . As if she'd just come back from a long ride on horseback.

“Are you  _ certain  _ that you don’t need me to — ”

“Rachel,” the marchioness said, urgently. She was quick when she wanted to. “It is time.”

Before Annabeth could finish her request to help loosen Rachel’s stay somewhere private, her friend had already been whisked away by her mother. The marchioness seemed determined, something she’d never thought her capable of being. 

But here she was, alone and with Rachel’s fluttering smile ingrained in her mind.

  
  


~

  
  


Sure enough, Rachel Elizabeth Dare had fainted the second she’d finished off with her curtsy. At least that’s what Helen told her, all frantic and pale-faced. She wanted to search for her, to see if she was alright. But just as she was about to voice her concerns to her stepmother, the presenter had called her name. 

Queen Charlotte was even more foreboding up close. 

Annabeth was dimly aware of her siblings watching her, along with her father, as she passed them on the eternal walk that Helen had promised would end shortly. 

Everyone was watching, really. 

But the only one she paid attention to sat on a gilded throne in a plush dais, ladies-in-waiting standing by her side, fanning their faces and scrutinizing Annabeth as though she were an object that they’d found on the ground. 

She longed to crane her neck and see where Rachel was, or if she was alright. But she couldn’t look away. Her gaze was frozen on the queen, not daring to so much as breathe the wrong way.

The queen, on her part, clad in a voluminous skirt awashed in embroidered fabric, didn’t take her eyes from Annabeth either. Her ostrich feathers jutted out from her wig, more majestic and monstrous than she’d ever seen it on someone. 

_ Focus. _

She curtsied, the fabric of her dress touching the polished wood, and dropped her chin. She felt it, more severely now: the burning eyes of the court and the debutantes. The novelty. The eyes that held ears to hear and mouths to speak. 

  
  


~

  
  


_ “Flawless.” _

That’s what Her Majesty had said.

_ Flawless. _ And soon after, her life had begun.

  
  


~

  
  


_ Attract as many as possible. When you have food to spare, you have food to choose from.  _

That was something Athena had told her, on her deathbed. She wanted to forget as much as possible. But just like her dream and the magnolia trees, it was nearly impossible to forget that day. It permeated in her mind like a strong perfume. Only Athena’s face had been lost in a cloud of smoke. 

Ironic, really. Her words had stayed, ones that she didn’t particularly want, but her face that she’d clung to for so long had gone off to sea and never returned. 

Nevertheless, she appreciated what the viscountess had taught her. She’d understood, better than anyone, the perils of being a woman. A woman who spoke her mind. With her own ideals and ways of thinking, Annabeth had all but idolized her. 

Athena, however, had immediately chastised Annabeth when she’d pointed out that she was better than the rest because of the prospect that her mother  _ wasn’t _ afraid of the judgments. 

“I am not afraid, but that is because I’ve married,” she’d said. “And my husband doesn’t mind what I do with my time; that is the key. Do not ever compare other women just because I seem ‘stronger.’”

But Annabeth, to this day, knew that few girls had a mother quite as intelligent and wise as hers. She kept it to herself after that incident, though.

Now, she sat in the velvet chair by her piano, her façade perfection. It was the only way to achieve her mother’s wishes.

Those of her family, as well. The twins came and went, but Helen and her father and Malcolm stayed, watching like hawks. 

Sit pretty and analyze every man that would come as though they were an opponent. 

Sit pretty and she would finally see what her mother had talked about.

Helen promised her they’d come, no matter how much her father insisted that he was “the man of the house,” and that some men were not as dignified as others.

Worse was that Malcolm  _ agreed  _ with him.

_ They’ll come.  _

_ I have the right to choose, and they’ll come. _

  
  


~

  
  


They  _ did _ come, like hungry beggars answering to the call of food.

But just as quickly, they left. Shooed off by  _ The Man of the House. _

  
  


~

  
  


“The duke of Hastings is here,” Rachel said, immediately after Annabeth had reached her on her horse.

It was wednesday. Riding day,

“What happened back at The Queen’s house?” Annabeth asked, ignoring her friend’s obvious deflection on the topic.

“Does it matter? How many suitors did you get, anyway?” 

“Rachel.”

“Annabeth.”

She huffed. “God, you’re impossible.”

The light in Rachel’s eyes appeared once again. “Just tell me about the suitors. A girl’s got to know.”

“Fine. I talk about my problems and in exchange, you tell me _ what the hell  _ happened in the courtroom.”

__ “Deal.”

And that’s what Annabeth did. She told her about all the suitors that showed up. How she’d tried to converse with many, only for them to leave shortly. It mainly had to do with Frederick, and Malcolm. 

“It’s their own way of caring for you,” Rachel said, shrugging. “I know, I know— _ you _ want to decide for yourself, but that’s how men are. The bloody deciders of everything.”

“I suppose so,” she sighed. “Malcolm  _ does _ care about me—doesn’t want me ending with some man whose only desire is a trophy wife. But my father...it’s clearly not the same. Only cares about surpassing my title and not if the man is actually  _ decent.  _ You know?”

Rachel made a humming sound.

“And  _ I _ know for sure, because he kicked out only the ones of lower rank. They weren’t even that bad.”

“That could be his way of caring for you, as well.” Her friend gave her an apologetic look. “You probably don’t see it that way, but...fathers can be like that.”

She recalled a few years prior, when Rachel had been forced to attend a finishing school. Her father had been the one to suggest it in the first place. By what Rachel had said, she supposed that that had been the marquess’ way of “caring.” 

Annabeth shook her head. “I hate it sometimes. It’s like...you have to find a hole in society, or else you’ll be trapped forever. But men, even if they try to help, make it worse.”

“Cheers to that.”

They rode in silence for a while, smiling politely at the few people strolling along the grass and trees. Until she remembered that Rachel had made a deal with her, that is.

“Alright.  _ Now  _ you have to tell me what happened at—”

“Ah, yes!” Rachel exclaimed. “And did I mention? That the duke is here? Of Hastings?”

She’d wanted to shake Rachel, to demand answers out of her, but if her friend didn’t want to talk about it, then she wouldn’t talk about it. No matter how much Annabeth wanted to.

Rolling her eyes, she asked, “So?” 

Whatever mattered that a _ duke _ was in town?

Rachel shrugged. “Just saying. He's a friend of mine, and he’s a friend of your brother, too. Just thought it nice to mention.”

She stared at her, not quite understanding what she was hinting at. By her cheeky grin, it couldn’t be good.

“I don't bloody care.” 

Rachel fake-gasped. “Miss Annabeth Chase! What sort of foul language is that?”

“Rach, quit  _ changing _ the subject.  _ Are you alright?” _

She sighed. “Yes.”

“Liar.”

“Am not! Truly, I’m fine!”

After seconds extended into what felt like oceans of silence, Rachel spoke again.

“It’s just...it’s harder now,” she said, patting her horse’s mane. “They used to let me do anything, apart from that time I had to go to that  _ horrid _ finishing school, but...they weren’t so bad.”

Annabeth knew exactly who she meant by “ _ they”. _

“And what’s changed your parents’ minds since then? The incident at court?”

“Partly, yes. But we’d had tension since even before that.” She met Annabeth’s gaze, eyes weary. Taking a deep breath, she said, “It’s about...my preferences.”

Annabeth was silent. She didn’t know what to say. Ever since Rachel had confessed about her feelings in regards to other women, they’d sworn to barely ever mention it. They couldn’t risk anyone overhearing. Such things, well, they could end someone’s life as they know it.

“I met a girl.”

“But...you’ve met plenty girls haven’t you? What’s one more — ”

“I really like her. As in, I think I may be in love.”

“Oh.”

“Look, I know this topic makes you nervous — ”

“It only does because if anyone heard…” Annabeth looked both ways, and Rachel did the same. Fortunately, everyone was too far away to listen into their conversation.

“It would be the end of me. Yes, I know.” 

Reluctantly, she let herself relax. “They’d have to be a witch with magical powers to be able to listen, so…” she gave Rachel an encouraging smile. “Go on, tell me what’s actually wrong.”

Rachel managed a tight smile. “You never know, however. With witches, I mean.”

“Oh, please. There’s no such thing as  _ witchcraft.” _

“Hmm. Like I said, you never know. But anyhow, these people have a horrible sense of style. There can’t possibly be a witch amongst them.”

Annabeth laughed at her friend’s snarkiness. Soon enough, though, she was staring at her expectantly with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, yeah, back to my problems.” Rachel seemed to have lost herself in her own thoughts, but just before Annabeth asked again, she said, “So I met this girl, and she likes me back. She’s wonderful, really. Beautiful, too. We met at my art convention.” Then, Rachel added, “She’s a model.”

“Ah.”

“But that’s not what’s gone wrong.” She laughed bitterly. “It’s Mum. She caught us, about a week ago.”

Annabeth felt her eyes widen. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” 

Rachel avoided her gaze. “...I didn’t know how. But it’s not that bad, honest. Mum’s calmed down a bit, because...I offered to marry.”

“But why — ”

“Same reason as you.” That’s when she raised her eyes to meet Annabeth’s. “I’ve never dwelled much on the topic of marriage; I knew it wasn’t for me...but with Reyna...it’s like I  _ want  _ to marry her. But I know I can’t. Not anymore, at least. If it hadn’t been for my misfortune, we might’ve been able to live together as ‘friends’ — that’s what father thinks it is, anyway. But all I wish for now, is to prolong any marriage topics this season. I just want more time. Yet it’s my obligation, or so I promised my parents.”

“Reyna? Is that…”

“Yes, that’s her name.” Her face softened. Just by looking at her, Annabeth could tell that her friend had fallen for that woman, hard. “Reyna Arellano. You’d like her. I’m thinking of making her my steward, once I marry.”

She felt a sudden rush of anger, of rage. That her friend had to live unhappily just because she loved differently than the rest of society. Annabeth wanted to scream.

_ How is this fair? _

“If it hadn’t been for Mother, we could’ve …” Her voice finally cracked. She stared off into the distance, as though watching a sinking ship and unable to help.

Something fluttered to Annabet’s lap. A magnolia petal. Simple yet mesmerizing, like the sun setting. More came, rushing with the wind that made her curls strain against her hat. 

The sight of something so familiar and that she held so dearly in her heart, gave her the words and the wisdom to comfort her friend.

“You  _ will  _ find a way to be with her — without making her your steward. If there’s anything I can say about you, Rachel Dare, is that you are one convincing woman. If your father doesn’t think much of your relationship with Reyna, then...perhaps your mother shall have no choice but to allow it to be. We’ll figure something out, together.”

Closing the distance between their horses, she held her hand out to her. Rachel took it, squeezing it tightly. She smiled, her green eyes glistening.

“Thank you, ‘Beth. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

_ That makes two of us. _

  
  


~

  
  


“I’ve talked to the dowager of Hastings,” Malcolm said, leaning against the doorway. Annabeth closed the book she’d been reading. “Sally Jackson. I’m sure you know her.”

_ Sally Jackson, Sally Jackson… _

“Ah, yes!” she breathed. “You’re friends with her son, aren’t you? Wait, she’s the dowager of Hastings?”

“Mmhmm. You were too little to remember, but she used to be a duchess. Until her husband passed, that is. The duke married her, even though she was a lowborn woman. But her son, who is  _ now _ the duke because  _ his  _ uncle passed—”

“That’s quite unfortunate.”

Malcolm tilted his head to the side, like he agreed but perhaps not. “...Yes...it  _ is.  _ But, the point is, that the newest duke—”

“The duke of Hastings? Rachel mentioned him.”

Malcolm stared at her pointedly. “Will you let me finish?”

She rolled her eyes, but nodded.

“Well, it so happens that the duke has gifted her an estate. Has officially given her proper rank as a dowager, like she deserved. So now, she’s hosting a ball and is inviting the entire ton—including us—to attend.”

“Hmm. How...fortunate, then.”

He grinned as he watched her expression.

Time to shine. 

  
  


~

  
  


Unfortunately, Rachel was nowhere in sight, like Annabeth had suspected. But it didn’t bother her too much. She was already occupied for the night. 

_ Remember, let the men come to you. Let them want more. _

She wasn’t sure what Malcolm had meant by that, but as they walked arm in arm, dodging laughter and smiling lips and dresses with embroidered trains, she found that most of the room had their eyes on her.

Especially the men.

At least what had happened at home hadn’t made them turn on their heels.

She gave them all a wan smile.

“Don’t give them much attention,” her brother muttered. “Or they  _ will  _ want to swarm you.”

Annabeth was about to protest, until she saw the man who had girls trailing after him like chickens.

He was clad in a royal blue waistcoat and had dark curls that complimented his narrow face. But otherwise, she couldn’t see him well.

_ Not an option _ , she thought.

Not if she already had competition.

“That one there, Lord McGonaggal—he’s a gambler. I do not recommend him,” Malcolm was saying. 

“And him?” she asked, glancing at a man with impish features and brown hair. He was conversing with another man who looked to be his brother.

“Connor Stoll.” He shook her head at her. “A known rake.”

“Oh, well,” she sighed. “I’ll just...look for Helen.”

Malcolm finally let her be. 

Her stepmother, who stood next to her father, smiled at Annabeth through her glass of champagne.

“Annabeth, dear. What brings you here?”

It still felt strange, how Helen was making an effort to be nice to her. She suspected it was because she wanted her out of the picture and married as soon as possible. 

Whatever the case, she was much more understanding about this topic than her father.

“Dad,” she said. 

“What is it?”

“May I speak with Helen? Alone?”

  
  


~

  
  


“You mustn’t overthink. Like you said, he’s caring for you.”

“But they can’t even come my way!” Annabeth said, her voice nearing a desperate screech. “He’s giving them these looks, scaring them off.”

Helen shushed her. “Careful what you say, Annabeth. People are watching.”

They scrambled farther into the corner of the room, where the musicians’ music sounded distant and eerie.

“What can I do?” she said, softly.

She’d never thought she’d ask Helen for advice, but here she was, with the older woman.

“Go to the drinks table. Perhaps there you’ll find a man dying to meet you.”

  
  


~

  
  


And that’s exactly what she did.

Annabeth felt eyes burning into her neck, and she turned, glass cup in her hand.

The blond man who stood behind her, smiling politely, nearly made her drop her drink. 

Helen was right, at the very least.

She recognized him, from long ago.

“Lord Castellan,” she said, attempting to seem excited. “What a surprise.”

“Miss Chase.” He bowed slightly, then took her pale hand and kissed it lightly. “A pleasure.”

It’s not like he wasn’t good looking, or impolite. But his presence had always made her uneasy. Perhaps it had something to do with that scar that crossed his face.

“Lovely party isn’t it?” he said. She noticed how his grin was forced; it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Everything about this is just divine.”

“I hear you’ve made quite an impression on the queen.”

“So they say.”

Lord Castellan laughed. “Oh, this is just magnificent, seeing you attending a ball like a proper woman! If I must confess, I’ve always been an admirer of yours. Ever since you were a little girl.”

His eyes roved her figure, then fixed on her face. His smile didn’t feel so warm anymore—it chilled her bones. 

_ Now  _ she understood. 

Her stomach dropped, and the nausea that had plagued her before meeting the queen came back with vengeance. 

His lips spread further. “I was just coming of age when I first saw you.”

“You were, yes.” Her grip on the glass cup tightened. “If you’ll excuse me—It’s my brother, he summons me.”

She left him there, her eyes stinging with acid.

But he didn’t stay put for long. 

Lord Castellan called her name. 

Her legs moved faster.

_ I will  _ not  _ cry. _

And as she hid behind bodies and dancing pairs, she saw her salvation.

It was the man with the blue waistcoat, who had just earlier been swarmed by young women. He had his back to her.

She rushed to him, bumping against him purposefully. When he turned around, she grabbed him by the arms and pretended to laugh at something he’d said.

“Oh, you are  _ hilarious _ , did you know?”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Please, miss. I wish to be left alone.” 

He muttered something to himself, about girls trying anything.

“What were you saying?” she asked, casually. “About your great aunt, I believe?”

But as Annabeth said this, she stared into his eyes—a starting green she might add—and looked at him pleadingly.

“Help me,” she mouthed.

He frowned, but then his gaze flicked to the sound of other footfalls.

“Miss Chase!” Castellan said. “You left in such a hurry!”

The stranger’s lips parted as though he understood the matter. He glanced from Annabeth to Lord Castellan. 

“Sir,” he finally said, voice rich with authority. “If you could most graciously take your leave, that would be wonderful. The young lady and I were just having a chat.”

Lord Castellan’s cheeks flamed red. He stood there for a couple of seconds, the air around them growing uncomfortable.

“Right. Pardon me.” She couldn’t exactly place the look on his face as he eyed her. Only that it couldn’t be good. “Until next time, Miss Chase.”

When he’d finally gone, the man turned to her. “So. You’re a Chase?”

“I’m terribly sorry,” she blurted. “For what I did. It’s—that usually doesn’t happen, but…”

“No, you did the right thing. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Now that her panic had dissipated, she could appreciate the man better. His features were sharp, but they weren’t ice cold, like Castellan’s. He looked to be about her age.

His eyes had her off guard for a moment. They were the rolling waves of the ocean on a stormy day. 

“So...I didn’t catch your name,” she said.

His lips quirked up into a half smile, one dimple showing. “Pardon?”

“Your name?”

He seemed to be teasing her; she didn’t appreciate being teased.

“You really don’t know my name?”

Well, this man certainly thought of himself highly.

“I—”

“Perseus  _ Jackson,”  _ a familiar voice boomed. “I thought you’d be brooding in your chambers instead of enjoying the party.”

Malcolm.

_ Perseus _ —apparently that was his name—laughed as her brother clapped him on the back.

She didn’t recall Malcolm being friends with him, but she didn’t mention it, letting them have at it. 

“Malcolm Chase,” Perseus grinned. “How’ve you been?”

“Eh, not so bad. But the bigger question is: how have  _ you  _ been? Should I call you Your Grace from now on?” Malcolm chuckled. “Or perhaps I should remember that you’re not a Jackson.”

He shook his head, however. “Once a Jackson, always a Jackson.” 

_ Jackson? _

Perseus  _ Jackson _ .

It dawned on her, right when the two men glanced her way, remembering she was still there in the first place.

“And...I assume this is your sister, correct?” Perseus asked.

She opened her mouth to admonish them that she was, in fact his sister, and that she could, in fact, speak. But Malcolm beat her to it; he was wise enough to ignore her withering glare.

“Yes, she is. I suppose this is as good a time as any to introduce her to you.” 

“Annabeth Chase,” she cut in, before her brother could do the talking. “Lovely to finally meet you.”

Perseus’ eyes twinkled. “Perseus Jackson. Though most know me as Percy.”

_ Right. _

They shook hands.

“And you’re...the duke of Hastings?”

“That would be so,” he said.

“I’ve heard from a friend that you were in town.” She looked at her brother. “And from Malcolm, of course.”

“Curious,” he said, that cheeky grin back on his face. “Since you didn’t know who I was.”

“Clearly not. There’s a difference between knowing a name and the person to whom it belongs to.”

He locked eyes with her, challenging. “Then I shall hope you remember my face, from now on, Miss Chase.”

“You hope for too much... _ Your Grace _ .”

“Annabeth.” Malcolm linked his arm around hers.  _ Watch it _ , he seemed to say. “The duke and I studied at Oxford together.” He winked at him. “Believe it or not, he was a small little thing.”

Percy shook his head at him, but was mainly addressing Annabeth. “Lies; he was always shorter. But yes, we studied together. Became one of my closest friends, even.”

“How nice,” she smiled politely.

“Well,” Malcolm said suddenly. “Now that introductions have been made, I believe that it’s time to part ways; Father isn’t feeling so well. Jackson.” Malcolm nodded to him, curtly. 

“Yes, of course.” He was still watching Annabeth. 

She raised her eyebrows. 

“Do tell your mother that this was a wonderful party,” her brother added. 

“Will do. And goodnight to you both.”

  
  


~

  
  


“Father isn’t unwell, and you and I both know that.”

“It’s best to leave now, Annabeth.”

“No.” She stopped walking, nearly bumping into a girl and her mother. “I’ve barely talked to anyone besides my own family. I want to dance, to meet all these men who are clearly interested.”

Her eyes motioned sideways, where a group of gentlemen kept glancing over in her direction.

“You‘ll do that talking, only later. Trust me, this is our best option.”

“What best option?” 

Annabeth swiveled to find Helen behind them with her father. 

Malcolm sighed at their stepmother. “To leave. We’ve had enough of this.”

“No.” Annabeth shook her head. _ “You’ve  _ had enough of this.  _ I’m  _ the one who’s choosing.”

“Trust me, sister. You don’t want these men near you. If we leave, you’ll become something desirable, out of reach. They’ll look for you then.”

She faced Helen instead, searching for any support, but her father was already agreeing. 

“Malcolm is right. This is for the best, Annabeth.”

And that was the end of the conversation. She left the party with everyone's attention on her like she was a goddess that had come down from the heavens. But in her mind, she’d never felt so small.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> scream at me via tumblr (@sk8terboipercy) 
> 
> -mwah


End file.
